In Dreams
by gathers-no-moss
Summary: It's a battle Lois wishes she could fight for him.


**Title: **In Dreams

**Spoilers:** none

**Theme and Prompt: **#5 – Deadline/dream

**Summary: **She's caught somewhere between a haze of sleep and waking when instinct takes over, her body tensing and her heart firing rapidly as she reaches for the bedside lamp.

**Author's Notes:** Originally written for clois_fest, even though it didn't get finished in time.

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><p>She's caught somewhere between a haze of sleep and waking when instinct takes over, her body tensing and her heart firing rapidly even as she reaches for the bedside lamp. Blinking and adjusting her eyes as light is cast over their bed, she turns to face Clark, impatiently thrusting a piece of disheveled hair behind her ear.<p>

The moans are soft, nothing more than whispers, his movements subtle, like he's trying to keep himself contained, to keep her from waking; to keep her from worrying. But she's as in tune to the way his body works as she is to hers, and as she tracks his movements with her eyes, the way his head begins to jerk from one side to the other, the way his face contorts in pain, the way his eyelashes flutter up and down, she knows he's loosing a hard fought battle. That someone is dying and the impossible can't be done this time.

It's a battle Lois wishes she could fight for him.

Usually, the touch of a finger to his brow, his cheek, is enough to calm him, and she'll be able to press her body into his, rest her head against his chest, against his heart. And even in his sleep, his arm will slide around her waist and he'll brush a kiss across her head. She waits for that to happen, holds her breath as she smooths wrinkles out of his forehead with the back of her hand. His breathing hitches, sharpens. A tear falls down his cheek. Then another that she wipes away with the pad of her thumb, her own eyes starting to shine bright. She watches as his hands clench into fists, knuckles turning white from the strain, and in the back of her mind wonders why the covers haven't torn yet.

By now blue eyes should be staring back at her in fear and worry and love and sorrow.

But he doesn't wake.

She presses her left hand to his chest, feels the erratic beating of his heart underneath skin that's warmer than usual. She doesn't want to wake him violently, doesn't want_ him_ to wake violently as he's done once or twice, usually at the expense of apart of her body. He doesn't need the guilt that brings. Hell, she doesn't need the guilt that brings. That he's worrying about her. Again. When other things need his attention much more.

With that in mind, she lifts herself to her knees, shifting a little bit closer for a easier access. Her fingers continue to run lines over his face, following his shaky movements. She counts to ten inside her head to keep her voice even.

"Clark?"

She waits, biting into her lower lip, and wraps her other hand around his wrist, squeezing.

"Baby?"

Lois moves her hand from his chest up to his shoulder, giving it a gentle push just as his mouth starts forming words: _nonono, not enough time, I'm sorry; _repeating over and over and over. A tear slips down her cheek.

There's a lost little boy quality in his voice, a broken quality that sends an ache through her chest and rips apart the gentle approach she's using. What she's doing isn't going to be enough this time. Deciding on another course of action, she backs away from his body, settling on the edge of the mattress, just in case he lashes out, but close enough to reach him as fast as she can.

"Clark?"

"Clark? Damn it wake up! Your scaring me."

That's what gets through.

Whatever defenses his mind has thrown together in the night collapses before her eyes. Before she can even blink, he's sitting up, covers tangling around his thighs as his eyes rustle around the room like it's somewhere he isn't suppose to be.

She crawls over to him, settling beside him to take his face in her hands, cupping his cheeks in such a way that he has to look at her. His trembling races through her own skin.

"You with me, Smallville?"

Clark's questioning eyes flicker from hers to her lips and back again, as if he's not sure he's in the real world just yet. His hands come to a hesitant, and then a hard grip on her hips. She leans her forehead against his for a second, expelling relief, fear, from her lips, and then pulls back just as quickly. His eyes are a little clearer now and she gives him a small encouraging smile.

He turns his body more into hers, she lifts one of her legs so that's she's straddling his thigh, his cotton pajama pants scratchy against her thighs. Her hands slide along his face, wiping away doubt and worry. Tear tracks and guilt. He gulps audibly, his voice scratchy as he finally answers her question, tension draining from his face with every soft movement of her hands, with every second that passes.

"Yeah." He clears his throat once, relaxing his fingers as he studies her face. "Yeah. I didn't-""

"Bruise free," she interrupts, another small smile encasing her lips. She drops her hands, resting them on his chest. His heart is beating a normal rhythm against her palm now, his breath more even on her cheeks. She feels her own heartbeat settling down and arches an eyebrow at him. "You're welcome to check, though."

His attempt to smile fails, but a shake of his head tells her he appreciates what she's trying to do. "I trust you."

"Hmm." Lois tilts her head, biting her bottom lip as she searches his expression, deciding to tread lightly. "That was some dream, mister."

His eyes fall from hers, finally, skittering to a stop at some point above her left shoulder. He flexes his fingers and they brush against her stomach underneath the flannel shirt she's wearing. Her muscles contract as he answers, shaking his head from side to side before resting it on her shoulder. "Not a good one. No."

She tugs on his earlobe and kisses his cheek, running her fingers through his hair. "It was hard waking you up. Wanna talk about it?"

His jaw tenses against her cheek and she can hear his teeth grinding together. He clutches her just a little bit tighter and she knows that every single image from his dreams is passing through his mind at that moment. Vivid and real.

She tightens her hold as well.

But he answers with a soft 'no' and 'sorry' and even though she kinda knew that was all she was going to get, disappointment settles in the pit of her stomach anyway. She hates that he sometimes still feels the need to keep things from her. To keep a burden to himself.

"Clark, I-"

She breathes a sigh against his skin and feels his body tense against hers, because he can read her too.

"We'll talk," he reassures. He lifts his head and pries her hands from around his neck, resting them against his chest, beneath his own. "I promise. Just not tonight. Or," he glances at the clock over her shoulder and shrugs, "at three in the morning. The images are still too fresh in my mind." He leans his head back enough to look into her face, the smile she's been wanting to see widening his lips ever so slightly. It holds a boyish hint of 'if you let me have my way just this once, later I'll do anything you want or need me to do.'

"Please, Lois."

Then the smile reaches his eyes, which only a few minutes ago were clouded with guilt and terror, and she knows she's done for. She's not giving in, just delaying it for a little while. And he does have a point about the time. She lets him know that with a roll of her eyes and nods her head once before pressing a kiss to his jaw, wrapping her arms around his neck to gather him in. "Okay." Clark kisses her shoulder and slides his hands around her back.

She cups the back of his head, burying her fingers in his hair, and then gives it a sharp yank.

"But don't you dare break your promise, Smallville. You know I have ways of making you talk."


End file.
